


something just like this

by wreckthatnecklace (therestisdetail)



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, and scarlet who has killed a man, everyone is lawyers or burlesque dancers and sometimes they are both, except nina who is just rich (tm), harold. they're lesbians., michelle visage is secretly proud of you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-01-13 00:10:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18457481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therestisdetail/pseuds/wreckthatnecklace
Summary: "Oh okay, she's Canadian," Vanessa says, a goddamn vision in red and denim and entirely workplace doubtful choices, and she says everything with a rasp that sends something right to Brooke's spine. Which is obviously not allowed. Which is- anyways. "She's nice and shit."[lawyer au]





	1. something just like this

 

Acting Principal. Alright.

Brooke is the boss, kind of, and it's doing her head in.

There are some constants, though, some anchors. There's Plastique, who knows her well enough to know that once upon a time she danced. She doesn't give Plastique any kind of ETA because she's a monster and she  knows it, but push come to shove she turns up when they're toasting to her baby's engagement and she turns out, performs and regrets nothing.

"Tell me if it's too much," she whispers. Plastique just grins.

Professional pride, unfortunately, nowadays has the the bar set somewhere on the ground but this is her girl and she wants to do right.

"Mom, you're great, mom-" Okay, someone is emotional.

It's her girl. That's the only headline that matters. That it is also her secretery is relevant to literally no one, and that feels right.

 

*

  
Okay, so. Sometimes these things come back to you. Brooke, despite all available evidence, is a fucking professional and a good lawyer. She can promise that. But given short notice and no warning she is on the grind and not exactly the most attentive when they bring in Vanessa as her temp assistant.

They've crossed paths, but only in the most glancing of ways.

"Thank you," Brooke says wildly. It will probably be accurate at some point. They saw each other at a club, she thinks, and she would never presume anything else. Given the roles, she knows the ball is in this one's court. "Thanks, Vanessa-"

"Oh okay, she's Canadian," Vanessa says, a goddamn vision in red and denim and entirely workplace doubtful choices, and she says everything with a rasp that sends something right to Brooke's spine. Which is obviously not allowed. Which is- anyways. "She's nice and shit."

"Am I?" Brooke says. "Occasionally, when it counts."

How she's feeling about that is a whole lot of not allowed.

She can't stop staring, which means she's really fucked all of this up. Goddamn, she needs Nina.

  
*

  
Nina has opinions. Inevitably.

"She has a boyfriend, and she's straight."

"No one is straight after meeting you."

"Fuck you that's- ugh. Okay, so fuck you."

"Is that a promise?"

"Always, baby."

"I don't think this one is going to like that."

"Stop it, Nina. STOP."

 

  
*

 

   
Brooke isn't nice. She's polite, it isn't the same thing. She sort of wishes the evidence of that hadn't come like this. She really wishes this client hadn't died. Unfortunate.

Vanessa has been picking up the phone to deal with shit from assorted family members that she was never trained for all day, so when she's walking past Brooke just pulls the phone from her hand.

"Yes, you're talking to her." Vanessa is looking at her some kind of strange, but Brooke puts that aside. "This is Ms Hytes, and no. Unless I have consent I won't be talking about that."

A small pause and a small smile like a shark. Well-earned, in her personal opinion.

"I don't have consent. Look at the will. I'll be sending it out. You can try reading it."

She doesn't know it, but as she puts the the phone down Vanessa is staring at her like she's a revelation.

  
  
*

  
"Bitch, I got a gig," Vanessa yells out, loud because that is how they do. She's been working a couple of places to make ends meet, and this is the night shift, with her night shift girls. A'keria is interested in her way, and Silky practically throws her across the room at the news. It's a full time job, temp or not. That's a hell of something.

"Not right now, Vanjie, don't-," Shuga says, "you know, nevermind," She winks and Vanessa adores her for it. Six figures in the past mama, but now all that is directed towards protecting the kids, and they all know it. Managers certainly come worse.

Vanessa tries to do it right and turns up barely hungover on a Monday, cc's in like a professional bitch, and dies quietly inside when she realises she missed one, an email that has a deadline in it of yesterday.

"This was me," she says, as upfront as knows how to be. "I fucked up, no one else."

"Good to know," Brooke-Lynn says, holding the paper copy delicately in her fingers like an afterthought. "Thank you. I'll take it from here."

It's never raised again even though she's ready for it for days. She can't really explain that.

But she got a gig, she's not arguing.

 

 


	2. it's not a swan song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanessa has been temping a while, so she has a routine going. It's pretty simple. 
> 
> She hasn't ever worked for someone like Brooke.

 

Vanessa has been temping a while, so she has a routine going. It's pretty simple. Wear something high-necked so no one clocks the tattoo, then just try and outrun the countdown to leaving before she opens her goddamn mouth one too many times and says the wrong thing.

The formula works. She thinks she's lucky, honestly, finds it easy to be friendly with people, no strings attached. She likes to think she's liked, and good with strangers. People tell her things. She's not going to be there long, there's no real stakes.

She hasn't ever worked for someone like Brooke.

Brooke is six foot something and wears designer pantsuits like a fucking suit of armour, never a hair out of place. Brooke kicks Vanessa out at 5pm sharp, assuring her the rest can goddamn wait until Monday, and then stays back who knows how long. The lights in the office automatically shut off late and Brooke is suspiciously familiar with the right button to hit when they play up, so Vanessa has her own opinions about that.

Vanessa is trying to impress and stumbles over "contemporaneous" three times in a row before giving up and saying that she wrote it down. Brooke doesn't blink. "Thank you," she says, like she means it.

So, no one like Brooke.

"Okay," A'keria says, later that night and cuddling close in between sets. "Baby, what's going on?"

"It's just a gig," Vanessa lies, like a goddamn liar.

"Okay," A'keria agrees, but says it in a way that has a couple of paragraphs of doubt behind it. A'keria can do that with a syllable.

"Her regular girl comes back from honeymoon in a week, I ain't dumb," Vanessa adds, halfway sober and a little defensive. "Just a gig."

"Oh, honey." A'keria says, soft, and there's a lot in that too, but Vanessa can't work it out.

 

*

 

Vanessa has been temping a while, so she has a routine going. But she gets reckless when she knows the end date is coming fast.

A woman walks in already yelling, dressed bright in a neon two-piece like she's challenging people to notice that first and not how pretty she is, or how young. She's yelling for Brooke, and Vanessa kind of snaps, just a bit, and yells back.

Brooke emerges and just watches for a moment, smiling a little. Vanessa doesn't notice at the time. She does step in though, saying nothing to Vanessa but just moving close and squeezing her shoulder, as if to give a sign.

"Miss Yvangeline," Brooke says, all amusement. "Darling, calm the fuck down."

"Nah," Yvie says. "I won't."

Turns out she's co-counsel and Vanessa waits all day for the dismissal.

The call comes for a meeting and she's ready. Brooke calls her in and looks almost tired. It's kind of scary to see - this bitch usually puts on a show.

"I'm sorry," Vanessa says pre-emptively. She really is. Brooke does blink at that. "Don't be," she says. "I have the funding to extend your contract, I was very much hoping you would stay on. Plastique will be back, but-"

"Yes," Vanessa says. This is probably opening her mouth and saying the wrong thing. Probably textbook that.

"Yes," she says, before even hearing the terms of it.

Brooke slumps against the desk. "Thank you. This - nothing's binding. Let me- let them send you the contract. Decide, then let me know."

Oh, A'keria was so right. This ain't just a gig.

_Fuck._

 

*

 

Nina has opinions. Every client with millions gets her time, that's the job, but Nina is different. Nina is different and Brooke is drowning.

"Even if she's interested-"

"There's no if, Brooke."

"She works for me. That's not right."

Silence.

"It's not right, Nina."

"It is complicated."

" _Complicated?_ "

"Very complicated. I don't know the answer. But I know everyone deserves the dignity of risk."

"The hell does that even mean?" Brooke wails, climbing into Nina's lap and the hug she gets isn't an answer but it means so much.

 

 


	3. wallowing in it would be such a waste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We're conspiring," Plastique says cheerfully, wrapping an arm around Vanessa and giggling again the third time Brooke comes by and grabs the stapler idly then looks lost.
> 
> "I surrender," Brooke tells her sincerely. "You win."

 

Plastique is more pretty than any human being should be allowed to be, and worse than that, she's nice. It's absolutely appalling.

"This is the worst," Vanessa tells her to her face. "You can't look like that and be nice too."

Plastique giggles. By lunchtime they have a few in-jokes running about the terrible mail register system and a kind of mutual agreement to interfere if any of the male clients stare too long. Brooke pretends very much that she isn't watching in on their interactions, and fails miserably.

"We're conspiring," Plastique says cheerfully, wrapping an arm around Vanessa and giggling again the third time Brooke comes by and grabs the stapler idly then looks lost.

"I surrender," Brooke tells her sincerely. "You win."

"We win what?" Vanessa demands. "Hey, pay out, bitch!"

Brooke throws her hands up and flees, and a moment later Plastique is looking at Vanessa with a somewhat calculating yet still annoyingly beautiful expression. God, her eyebrows are perfect.

"I like you," she says, like it's a secret. "Good."

Vanessa decides that everyone that works here is incomprehensible. Fine, whatever.

 

  
*

 

  
They get a new client. Her name is Scarlet, she's wry and she's funny, she still has bruises. Apparently the reason why is cooling in a morgue and that's why she needs a lawyer. Brooke touches her like she's made of glass and Scarlet reaches back and cracks a joke to break the tension. The same day Yvie comes in again quiet, and that's how Vanessa knows everything really has gone to shit.

There are two hushed meetings in closed rooms, and Brooke emerges with a hand on Yvie's cheek.

"We'll do everything we can, we can't do more."

Yvie pulls away. Brooke watches her go and hugs herself, instinctive and accidental, like a child that's scared.

"All okay, Miss Brooke?" Vanessa says, completely unable to hold back from saying something, anything.

"Yes ma'am," Brooke says absently.

Two hours later everyone has gone home, and Vanessa is late and going to have to pay for that one way or another, but Brooke is still here too. She has to do something about that.

She opens Brooke's door uninvited. Brooke looks back, from the corner where she's curled up on the floor, a half-finished bottle of gin in hand, and Vanessa has never seen her like this.

"Sorry," Brooke says into the silence, the accent spilling out far more than normal. "Fuck. I'm sorry, I-"

Vanessa doesn't even think before she's over there and close, putting the drink away carefully but far. She's pretty practiced at that.

"Hey, Brooke?"

Brooke blinks heavily. "Sorry," she says again. "I just - if I can't do this right, what the fuck am I for?"

Oh.

She's at least a bit drunk, and Vanessa ought to know better. Her boss is drunk, but she's also holding on to Vanessa like she's her last hope. Vanessa bridges the gap, pulls her in to hold her properly, and kisses her.

Brooke melts to it immediately. She's got some height on Vanessa but she does everything not to use it, leans back and kisses soft like she doesn't believe the opportunity will come again.

Jesus. Vanessa really ought to know better.

She does, really. She just doesn't care.

 

 


	4. don't let me down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That leaves Miss Vanjie," Silky declares. "Vanjie, what real bad decision did you make this week?"

 

Vanessa and her girls have a game they play, every now and again, when it gets to the end of night shift and the bar is closed, clearing out the bottles that are mostly empty enough Shuga's not gonna mind if they take them home. They take a few shots around as they do it, sharing tales of woe from their day jobs, and the worst story gets to take the haul home. It's either a prize or a consolation, and probably both.

"I fell asleep," Mercedes says mournfully, and they chorus their sympathy. She is the sweetest thing, and it isn't her fault retail can be like watching paint drying.

"I think it was a fair question," A'keria tells them. She's on her second strike for asking her manager extremely politely if he could in fact fucking read, because it was the only reason she could think of for him asking her the same stupid thing three times in one day.

"That leaves Miss Vanjie," Silky declares. "Vanjie, what real bad decision did you make this week?"

  
  
*

 

  
Vanessa kisses her boss tangled together on the floor of the corner office with half a bottle of gin she just confiscated thrown nearby and absolutely no plan. At all.

Brooke melts to it until she doesn't, and makes a small noise and pulls away. Vanessa lets her go immediately.

"I shouldn't have done that," Brooke says quiet, eyes shut closed.

Vanessa is by equal measures endeared and annoyed. Credit where credit is due.

"I think I did that," she really did. "Actually."

Brooke sits herself up and doesn't meet Vanessa's eyes, scrambling both literally and metaphorically for a way out of this. "In my defense," she says, reaching for the gin and throwing it out only half empty, which actually hurts Vanessa's soul. "I was off the clock two hours ago. It's not an excuse, but-"

Vanessa has no idea what she's on about. Boss wants to drink, boss gets to drink. That's how it fucking works.

They might have even left it at that, and mutual embarassment, except Vanessa watches Brooke confidently and incorrectly put her own address into the uber app three times before she steps in.

"You're a lightweight, Mary," she informs her. "And I am walking you to your door."

"Oh," Brooke says, which isn't a no. "She's a lady."

Vanessa is pretty sure she's never been a lady, whatever that means, and never will be. But when she tries to think what the definition of that might look like, she can't stop coming back to Brooke.

Walking into Brooke's apartment with her a little later does nothing to ruin that impression. Brooke is hardly walking straight but she takes her shoes off at the door, tells Vanessa there's no need for her to anything of the sort, and tries to offer her something to drink from the kitchen, gesturing loosely from a goddamn bottle of Moet to the coffee machine.

It's big, and pretty in that utterly hollow way furniture catalogues are. Vanessa wonders how much time she even spends here.

"Sure," Vanessa says, reaching for the Moet. She's not a saint, come on.

"Give me a moment," Brooke says, and disappears.

Vanessa is on her second glass and wondering if the time is right to check that Brooke is passed out comfortably and leave when Brooke wanders back in.

She's wearing nothing but a t-shirt and some kind of nothing-much lace underwear, and the t-shirt is soft enough that Vanessa can tell that for sure. Her hair's damp, and she's more alert than she was. Jumped into the shower something quick, maybe.

Without heels, or makeup, she's a little smaller. A little softer around the edges. Still moves the same though, moves like something Vanessa associates much more with big cats on Animal Planet and much less with upper-middle class bitches from Toronto.

"Thank you," she says.

"Mhhmmm," Vanessa agrees uselessly, leans back against the table and drains the rest of the champagne as quick as she can. What the _fuck_ was that, girl.

"You were right," Brooke adds, a little thoughtful. "Before. You did do that. Actually. That was a risk."

"Yeah," Vanessa has no idea where this is going, but she figures it's Brooke, and joking about it probably isn't out of bounds. "But I got you home too, so. If you're gonna be mad about it tomorrow I've changed my mind and everything is your responsiblity."

"No, ma'am, I won't," Brooke says low, and the next thing Vanessa knows she's stepped close and press a kiss to the very corner of Vanessa's mouth, barely there.

"But just so you're not taking a risk alone," she says quiet against Vanessa's neck. "I think this is a very bad idea only because I cannot stop thinking about doing this when I'm sober, all the time."

Vanessa is just a normal terrible human person, okay, and cannot resist turning into the kiss something fierce. Unlike Brooke she's dressed still and in heels, but the angle is still not ideal, so the next thing she knows she's off the ground and being lifted up to the counter. It's effortless enough that Vanessa honestly doesn't know if Brooke is aware she did it, or if she just wanted to get closer and found the path of least resistance.

Vanessa sits on Brooke's kitchen counter with her skirt hitched up and Brooke pressed close between her knees, kissing at her collarbone.

"What if I think it's a good idea?" Vanessa asks.

"Then I'm in trouble," Brooke says, completely honest, and Vanessa has the terrible realisation that she is, in fact, sometimes a good person.

Sometimes. But she's not a saint, come on. She lets it last longer than she should, Brooke pressed warm to her and soft and all her defenses left somewhere on the stairs.

"Okay," Vanessa says hoarsely, grabbing at Brooke's face with two hands. Brooke stills immediately. "We're gonna to revisit this, when you're sober."

Brooke doesn't flinch and even smiles when she tells her to finish her drink and take as long as she would like before leaving, sees Vanessa to the door and doesn't ever let a moment of hesitation cross her face.

So that's a lady. That's about it, Vanessa's sure.

 

*

 

  
Silky grabs the table like she's going to flip it. Everyone else grabs the bottles, because it's not like she's never done that before.

"I am done!" she yells at the sky. "HAVE I TAUGHT YOU NOTHING, BITCH WHAT THE HELL-"

"Everyone hand it over," A'keria says calmly, ignoring Silky completely. "Vanjie gets the drinks, Vanjie wins."

A prize or a consolation. And sometimes both.

 

 


	5. no new friends

 

Fifteen years ago, Nina West is not a household name. Fifteen years ago, she's still made a big enough name for herself to be invited to terrible industry parties that she doesn't want to go to, full of people she doesn't know or doesn't like. That's showbusiness. It doesn't help that she's tired. It's a dirty messy undignified scramble to make your five minutes of fame into an actual career, but she's been trying. Everything is very loud. Is it this loud for everyone else?

She ends up waving for the attention of one of the statesque blondes in gold dancing at a couple of different corners; they work here, she figures. She asks where somewhere quieter is. The girl raises an eyebrow but leads her off to another room relatively patiently, and Nina realises she's halfway into the complete panic attack she's been working up to for about a week at the exact same time she tries to be polite and give a tip, and just hands over all the money she has on her.

The girl in gold tenses, and shoves it back towards Nina. "Either you keep that, or you're looking to buy something that isn't for sale." She smiles sharp. "Just on display."

Nina nods, and then tries to remember how breathing works.

She's not exactly sure what happens in between, but next thing she's outside in the fresh air, sitting on the stairs outside a fire exit with someone rubbing calming circles into her back. "Okay," golden girl says, calm and low. "Sorry about that. Just breathe and listen to me talk."

She doesn't leave the entire time, and talks about everything and anything. She tells Nina about her cats, all three of them. She tells her that her parents always wanted her to do ballet, and laughs about how horrified they'd be that the tricks she learned in those classes get her extra tips doing this. She tells her about all the things wrong with her study schedule this semester, and why the bouncers who work here aren't so bad.

"What are you studying?" Nina asks, when she can.

The girl rolls her eyes, and pulls her legs in close, seeming a little self-conscious for the first time about how little she's actually wearing. Through the makeup, Nina realises she's younger than she'd thought at first.

"Don't laugh," she says. "I'm doing law." Nina doesn't laugh. Nina thinks that's pretty wonderful.

It's fifteen years ago, but as far as Nina remembers it, that's how she first met Brooke. And the rest, as they say, is history.

 

 

*

 

 

Brooke wakes, remembers what happened in her kitchen last night and cocoons herself in the duvet like it can fend off reality while groaning out loud for a full minute. Reaching out for her phone, she scrolls through and finds the contact marked just "Dad", followed by a few different star emojis, and sends a quick text.

_i fucked up u should come over kick my ass_

Then she takes a deep breath, and because she is a goddamn adult, she pulls herself together, gets over it and dresses for work.

Halfway through brushing her teeth she glances in the driveway, and belatedly realises that being in no state to drive played a big role in said events. She sends a second text, to the same contact.

_but also drive me to work please_

Twenty minutes later a car horn blares outside and she tidies her eyeliner the best she can before heading out. Nina's waiting in the car and slides the door open, Brooke swinging herself into the passenger seat and gratefully accepting the oversized coffee Nina has waiting.

"I do not deserve you," she says sincerely. Nina shushes her, and pats her wrist.

"Did something to the car?"

"Nope," Brooke says calmly.

"Did something worse?"

"Oh," Brooke says, sipping coffee. "Absolutely I did."

"So stay home," Nina says, exasperated, like someone who has been her own boss for too long. Which is technically what Brooke is now, except for her refusal to acknowledge it.

"I'm good," Brooke says. "I'm great. I owe you... many, and lots. I'll see you on the weekend?"

"Okay," Nina says, longsuffering. Brooke knows for sure she doesn't deserve her. "Brunch, and that's a promise, little ma'am."

"Done."

Brooke doesn't actually end up being late, a very minor and mundane kind of miracle. Vanessa does not turn up on time.

Brooke is a goddamn adult, though, so she does not react. Sometimes people are late to work.

As it's hitting about 11 she is rescued by Plastique, who is a beautiful angel and also possibly psychic. "I texted Vanessa," she tells Brooke. "She says sorry, and she'll be in soon. Something personal came up. In case you were wondering."

"That's fine," Brooke says. "Great."

Plastique narrows her eyes. "You're being weird. Stop being weird."

"I have appointments," Brooke tells her haughtily, as if Plastique didn't schedule her entire calendar and knows it inside out. "And reading to do. For the appointments. Go away."

Vanessa enters not long after like a thundercloud, and throws her handbag down as if it has personally offended her. Brooke stays halfway in the doorway of her office, not quite stepping out into the shared space.

"I'm sorry," Vanessa says to the room in general, in the least apologetic tone Brooke has ever heard. "Fuck. I'll do overtime, make this up." She hits the power button on her computer a couple of times, the key word being 'hit'.

"Everything okay?" Plastique asks.

"Not okay, but." Vanessa tucks her hair behind her ear and waves her hand dismissively. "Just some kind of a domestic, okay?"

"Don't worry about the hours," Brooke says, and flees back in, shutting the door.

She's halfway through reading Scarlet's statement from the week before for the third time when Vanessa enters and drops a few emails in the filing tray then hovers. It's been over an hour - Scarlet is one of the most exquisitely frustrating people Brooke has ever tried to talk to, and as someone who has worked extensively with Yvie that's saying something - and Vanessa seems a lot less angry. So that's something.

"Hi," Brooke says.

"Hi," Vanessa says. "We back to not saying things out loud? Okay. Just I need that kind of shit made clear."

"I kissed you in my kitchen last night," Brooke says, a little drily. She can fucking say things out loud, she just doesn't know if she can say anything smart, or helpful, or that makes this any less of a bad idea.

Vanessa looks surprised, and then completely unselfconsciously pleased. "Yeah, well. It was good."

"Yeah," Brooke says. "Yes."

That settles nothing at all, but Vanessa is smiling like it does, and she smiles in a way that knocks Brooke right around, so she doesn't push for more.

 


	6. do you need me to spell it out loud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The most telling part is probably how it's no work at all to send all the little signals, and how much it's actually a lot less work now she's not trying to hide it.

 

Sometime in her first few couple of days Vanessa mentioned to Plastique, offhand, that she had a man. It might have been more accurate to say that what she has is a series of longstanding grievances with a guy who thinks that just because they've known each other since they were ten and her parents like him that she'll come back to him no matter what he does. But that's a lot of words for your first few couple of days in a new job. Besides, she's a bit ashamed of how often she does, because it's easier than being alone.

When she's the one coming home late with lipstick on her collar, apparently it's a whole different deal, and over the next eight or so hours they have three separate screaming fights about it, and break at least two pieces of furniture.

So that's how on Wednesday night she impulsively kisses her immediate supervisor right there on the office floor, and by 10:15 am on Thursday morning she considers herself officially single. And also late to work.

Fuck her life, honestly.

When she arrives Brooke doesn't even have the grace to look the least bit annoyed at her. That would be easier, given how annoyed - how  _angry_ she is at herself. Angry that she's being so unprofessional right now, when it counts. Angry at herself for not kicking him out months ago. Absolutely furious that she's doing what she always does, throwing herself in too far and too fast like a infatuated little girl when she should be trying to remember that sometimes a kiss is just that. Just a thing that happened. Nothing at all.

She sorts through emails in silence and then punches holes in the larger bundles of incoming mail with vitriol for a while. Neither are helpful. Eventually, she can't avoid entering Brooke's office.

She is determined to be stoic about this. Silent as the grave.

"Hi," Brooke says.

"Hi," Vanessa replies. "We back to not saying things out loud? Okay. Just I need that kind of shit made clear."

Fucking  _stoic,_ that had been the plan.

Brooke leans back against her chair, shoulders set like Vanessa's seen before when she's sitting across from opposing counsel. Her gaze is soft, though. "I kissed you in my kitchen last night," she says.

"Yeah, well." Yeah she did. "It was good."

"Yeah." A beat. " _Yes._ "

Vanessa smiles until she knows she's probably grinning like some kind of a looney toon and she doesn't particularly care. This is it. This is just flirting, like two people do, without any of the rest. This is something Vanessa can definitely do.

Alright.

 

 

*

 

 

The most telling part is probably how it's no work at all to send all the little signals, and how much it's actually a lot less work now she's not trying to hide it. She stops pretending she doesn't know Brooke's coffee and pastry order off by heart, and is a lot less subtle about making sure the more annoying phone calls never make their way past her when she knows Brooke is busy. She wears a couple of skirts she hadn't previously considered workwear, exactly, but it's all in good fun.

"Right on it, Miss Brooke," she says brightly, taking some filing, and Brooke takes a half step forward before she catches herself as if realising that would back Vanessa between her and printer.

"Brooke is- Brooke is fine."

"Haven't ever called you anything else here, Miss Brooke," Vanessa says blithely, and smiles. "That's 'cause my mama taught me manners."

Brooke, just briefly, looks at the ceiling like it might come save her. It doesn't.

Plastique acts like she's oblivious. Most enablers do. Once, and only once, Brooke sends for dry cleaning and Plastique passes it straight on to Vanessa to bring in. With the door closed, Brooke strips her shirt off silently, and Vanessa knows if she did or said a word she could get more. Instead, she helps pull on the fresh silk shirt, straightens the collar and does up buttons one by one while Brooke reads her face and then plays along, letting her.

"Thank you," Brooke says. Some days she sounds a lot more like her hometown than others.

"You're running late," Vanessa informs her sweetly. "Miss Brooke."

 

 

*

 

 

Vanessa used to hate note-taking, but honestly, watching Brooke work is something else. She sets herself up in the corner - if it's at a flattering angle that's no one's business - and just watches the show. Today they're working on prep with Scarlet, who may or may not eventually take the stand. Scarlet, in Vanessa's personal opinion, is always good value.

"If it was premeditated," Scarlet says "I'd have come up with something better than this." Vanessa winces. Brooke is a marble statue.

"Maybe don't put it quite like that." Brooke tells her evenly. "Explaining to the prosecution that they are idiots is Yvie's job." In the corner Yvie, lounging looking bored, throws up two fingers in a peace sign and smiles joylessly. "Your job is explaining to everyone else why they should believe you."

"I'm not a damsel in distress," Scarlet says. "I did it, and I had good reason."

"Would playing at being one be so bad for one day?"

"If I didn't do anything wrong," Scarlet says, pouting like a child instead of a grown woman dancing the fine line between self-defence and manslaughter, "why should I play at anything?"

Yvie perks up for the first time this whole session. "Is that not what I've been saying? And she's agreeing!"

Vanessa is honestly sort of on Yvie's side. She's also a bit confused as to whose case this actually is, which is answered a bit later while she's packing away the laptop and after Scarlet has elegantly kissed everyone on the cheek and left.

"Stop doing that," Yvie says, as if she and Brooke are the only ones there. "It's my client, and you haven't done crim since fucking stonewall."

"I'm old, we get it," Brooke says. If the bitch is more than half a moment over thirty Vanessa will eat her goddamn hat. "Yvie, it's what the partners decided I'm here to do."

"Be my babysitter?" Yvie asks, bitter. Okay, there's a story here.

"To be a safety net." Brooke retorts. "For your client and for _you._ I'm here anyway, so use me."

In the ensuing silence Vanessa grabs at Brooke's papers, because she knows Brooke is already ten minutes late for a file review with Honey. "I got it, Miss Brooke."

Brooke blinks and thanks her absently as she goes. Vanessa packs her papers up as neat as she can while Yvie huffs and does her own, and muses that while they got off on the wrong foot at first, that might not mean they can't get on.

"You can stop it too," Yvie says a moment or two after they are alone. "Chewing on that little braid and-" she flutters her eyelashes exaggeratedly. "If I have to work with her, I want her concentrating on this. Not what she's going to be doing to you in a fucking stationary cupboard later today. Jesus." And then she's gone.

Vanessa is left standing there feeling very small, and a little hollow, because she can't even say that Yvie's wrong.

 

 

 

 


	7. live my day as if there was no past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caring about someone is the strangest thing. Intuitively, it should work the other way around, but the moment Brooke ever stepped in to take care of a very young girl because no one else damn was is the moment Plastique kind of owned her entirely.

 

Plastique is sitting in Brooke's chair, adorable kitten heels up on Brooke's desk, and inspecting her fingernails. "I'll tell you who said something to Vanessa," she says idly, "if you buy me something pretty before date night."

Brooke is, for a whole moment, tempted. But she likes to think that she's not a full idiot, and knows Vanessa would hate her battles being fought for her about as much as Brooke is longing to fight them.

"Nina will buy you something pretty for date night," Brooke says, by way of compromise, "if you stop doing your nails in my office and tell me something different that I don't know."

Plastique puts the cap on the nail polish, and kisses Brooke's cheek.

"She talks tough but she wants a movie, mom," Plastique says.

"A movie?"

"One of the corny ones too," Plastique informs her, and smiles. "This is not your wheelhouse, huh?"

"I can get Nina to buy you two pretty things," Brooke says, because bargaining is one of the stages of grief. "Explain."

"She thinks she's to real to want Sleepless in Seattle," Plastique says dreamily. "But she doesn't know what she wants."

"Leave," Brooke says, lifting her bodily out of the chair. "I hate you so much."

"Love you too," Plastique tells her, slipping away with a smile.

Caring about someone is the strangest thing. Intuitively, it should work the other way around, but the moment Brooke ever stepped in to take care of a very young girl because no one else damn was is the moment Plastique kind of owned her entirely.

Plastique taps the cap of the nail polish as she leaves. "Still smells better than cigarettes," she says. "Stop like you promised."

Brooke can only nod. Owned entirely.

 

 

*

 

 

When Brooke was younger, things were easier. When she liked someone enough for her blood to run warm she'd let them know and that was all it took; because they were always the ones who could have the chance to hurt her instead of the other way around she never had to stop and actually think. Except for when Nina knew, because it's not right to make Nina worry.

When Brooke was younger, and working somewhere less reputable, she used to drive the long way home. She'd do it just to pass this particular spot on the hill, where the lights are bright but not enough to dispel the stars and they could park their piece of shit car, climb on the hood and drink five-dollar wine while they complained about how much they hated their boss.

The wine she has in the back costs more than five dollars. She hopes they can talk about something else, but if it comes to it, she can't deny that she's open to constructive criticism.

 

 

*

 

 

Vanessa is... well, _Vanessa_ but with a vengeance for almost a clear week and Brooke notes the moment it stops and catalogues everything she could have possibly said wrong for hours.

"The world doesn't revolve around you," Nina says at brunch, "or your control issues."

"My control issues are extremely productive, so fuck that," Brooke says, poking at avocado on toast. "Don't tell me why I don't matter."

"Not what I'm saying," Nina says, but says it fondly. "You're smarter than that."

Brooke hesitates. "I want her to have the reins."

"Adapt to the situation," Nina says, wisely.

Brooke gets ambitious and makes up a meeting with Yvie just to be late to it, leaves a calculated amount of space and then walks in to what she would personally classify as the single most awkward frozen tableau she has ever seen. Perhaps most unsettling is Vanessa, who is never silent by choice.

"Yvie?"

"I'm here to apologise to your PA," Yvie says abruptly and kind of urgently, which is how Brooke knows she actually cares. "Not for _saying it,_ " she adds, because she is still Yvie. She glances at her wrist. "For... the dismissive language that... I used when addressing the issue."

"Yvie," Brooke says, a little detached from the situation sheerly out of awe. "Do you have notes on your hand?"

"No," Yvie says, pulling her sleeve down, and lying like a liar does.

"Are you _cheating,_ " Brooke asks, "at _apologising._ "

"Yvangeline," Brooke says. "Are you-"

"If I say it's okay, does this end?" Vanessa asks desperately. "It is, uh, it's okay. It's fine. Is it over now?"

 

 

*

 

 

When Brooke was younger, things were easier. Maybe that's how Vanessa feels now. She hopes so. She waits until a night they have too much work to do - that's a joke, because that's every damn day, it seems - and for once doesn't decline Vanessa's offer to stay back and help but instead trades it in for an offer to drive her home.

"Oh, come on," Vanessa says, laughing out loud. Beautiful. "That wasn't serious."

"Oh," Vanessa whistles, "this car on my street, that's asking for trouble."

But she gets in Brooke's car, and she plays DJ as soon as she is, comfortable.

When they reach the hill they slow, but don't stop. Brooke is fully aware how this could go the wrong kind of film genre if she is unclear or pushes it too far. It's very late. Several slasher films probably start similarly. But it's beautiful like she remembered though, stars spilling out wide with the city lit up below.

"I used to stop here," she says, "climb on the hood and drink five-dollar wine. Talk about... people like me now, I guess."

"I have sparkling in the back," she says. "Only if- no problem, if you just want home."

"Bitch," Vanessa says quietly. "You're fucking crazy. Pull over."

She pulls over under the stars and climbs on the hood of the car while Vanessa curses her out and kisses her by turns, and they swap the bottle back and forth while staring straight up.

"Tell me something," Vanessa demands, tipsy.

"The hair is dyed," Brooke says, pulling at her own platinum mess. She smiles, a little fuzzy herself. "Blonde, just... sandy. I don't know. I was twenty whatever, I thought it made me look meaner." She looks to Vanessa. "I was twenty whatever, I needed to look meaner."

"I dance nights," Vanessa tells the sky firmly. "It ain't stripping, it's-" she stops.

"Yeah," Brooke says. "Okay."

"Oh, fuck you," Vanessa says, turning towards her amused.

"Yeah," Brooke says. Serious. "Okay."

 


	8. I don't feel like crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanessa knows she doesn't need to be wooed, which isn't the same thing as not liking it. She talks shit under the prettiest stars she's ever seen nestled close to Brooke on the hood of her car like they're the only two people in the world, and at some kind of stupid o'clock in the morning when Brooke suggests getting a car the last stretch home she laughs it off and drags Brooke with her to walk the rest of the way.

 

 

Vanjie and her girls have a nickname for themselves, and share absolutely everything. This includes groceries, the electricity bill, occasional bail money and frequent secrets.

"Still bad news," Silky says whenever Brooke is referenced, grumpy about it. She is only slightly appeased by the fact that Vanjie's thrown over He Who They Do Not Discuss, so now Silky doesn't have to go and murder him herself.

"You're feeling bad like you're... mhhm, without actually mhhmm," A'keria points out primly, with a tenuous grasp on what could theoretically be more dignified advice. "That's dumb, Vanjie. Stop feeling bad, or at least just this fuck this white-collar bitch so you got something worth it for the feeling."

Vanjie shoves her, rolling her eyes. "It ain't a uni- unlat- it ain't just my decision, girl."

Vanjie and her dreamgirls share absolutely everything, including a lease. A'keria comes home from a late shift she honestly could have done without, wanders right into the kitchen, nods politely at the lithe viking of a woman getting a glass of water with no clothes on and heads for the fridge, because sometimes you need to have priorities.

Her brain catches up with the world a couple of seconds later, but she finishes grabbing the half-sandwich she had left herself before turning around to double check she saw that right.

"Oh," the blonde says, blinking. "Sorry, ma'am," she says, with perfect manners and no actual visible regret. "I- Vanessa allowed me to stay the night."

She's reaching for the suit jacket slung over one of their kitchen chairs with a kind of lazy grace, a little more like she's been asked to change outfits at a photoshoot and a lot less like she's scrambling to cover herself, and has enough of an accent on the vowels for A'keria two realise two things. One, Vanjie hasn't been bullshitting them all this time. Two, Vanjie has really been holding back when it comes to the details.

"Oh _Canada,_ " A'keria says with emphasis, mildly admiring, just before Vanessa barrels out blushing bright red and wrapped in a bedsheet, and promptly drags Brooke back into her room while glaring daggers.

"Get it, working girl!" A'keria calls after her, because as far as she's concerned Vanjie deserves just a bit more embarrassment. Then she smiles to herself, and finishes the sandwich.

 

 

*

 

 

Vanessa knows she doesn't need to be wooed, which isn't the same thing as not liking it. She talks shit under the prettiest stars she's ever seen nestled close to Brooke on the hood of her car like they're the only two people in the world, and at some kind of stupid o'clock in the morning when Brooke suggests getting a car the last stretch home she laughs it off and drags Brooke with her to walk the rest of the way.

"It's not far," she says.

"Sure," Brooke says, laughing, and takes her heels off immediately as if to call Vanessa a liar. She keeps pace barefoot and doesn't stop holding her hand, though.

Vanessa takes her home stumbling giggling through back alleys in the dark and doesn't have the time or the heart to be embarrassed about the mess in the house or how small her room is. She's too busy holding on to Brooke's shoulders, biting at her throat, and hoping desperately that when they hit the mattress she will remember or at least work out what to do. It isn't her first time with a girl - a woman, and good fucking god is Brooke a _woman_ \- but it's her first time in recent memory this sober and trying to be good at it. She's a little scared.

"Don't overthink this," Brooke says lightly, with both of them mostly undressed, bracketing Vanessa underneath her. She smiles and rolls her eyes, self-deprecating. "That's my thing."

She curls her fingers around Vanessa's and pulls Vanessa's hand to her own hair, though, voice low. "Pull hard if you want to stop, if you want-" she trails off. "Tell me out loud or tell me like that."

Then she ducks down and kisses her way over Vanessa's waist to her hip then to her inner thigh, and grazes the soft skin there with teeth, and Vanessa quite frankly looses all ability to make decisions about anything.

She's so gentle Vanessa goesn't know if she's done this before or she's replicating a good experience, hopes for either both or at least the latter. First times matter. Brooke eases everything in, no concern at all, tracing Vanessa's tattoo with her tongue as if she has all the time in the world. She traces between Vanessa's legs and touches gently with her fingers until Vanessa bites at her neck for more, tracing shapes and then pressing, soft and sure, inside.

Vanessa is wet enough she'd usually be humiliated and has a leg hooked over Brooke's shoulder, entire body tense like the world is about to end, and the strangest thing is that it doesn't matter, or at least it means something she's not measuring, because all she can think about is _now_. Now, Brooke crooks a finger inside her and leans to press a kiss to Vanessa's collarbone, now she wraps an arm around her waist. Now, Vanessa is almost lifted off the mattress.

"You want me down?" Brooke asks, as if that's something normal to say. She kisses a smile against Vanessa's neck. "I'm good on my back."

"No," Vanessa, says, helplessly honest.

Brooke doesn't hesitate and rolls them halfway over, pulled soft and close. She tugs Vanessa's panties away and kisses her hipbone as some sort of preface before she plays her way down and presses her tongue slow into her, over and over, relentless. It's everything that should be an emergency but it isn't because it's unfair, probably, how Vanessa is lost in it. _Jesus,_ and-  there aren't words, really. She shakes under Brooke's hands, and comes with sparks behind her eyelids.

"Prettiest damn thing," Brooke mumbles, breathless. "I've ever seen." Vanessa doesn't know what she's talking about.

Vanessa doesn't need to to be wooed, she knows that. Vanessa is playing games in a league she isn't qualified for, she knows that. But she'll take the memory of a night like this, no hesitation.

She's opportunistic, she tells herself, kissing at Brooke-Lynn's shoulder. It's not so bad, it's not greedy unless she doesn't know when to let go. Brooke tucks her in close after she stops shaking and Vanessa doesn't even know if she's had hers, tries to say that out loud. Tries to offer- anything, and she means that.

Brooke tucks her in close, and she guesses she'll never know.

 

 

 

*

 

 

They have a date for trial. Yvie puts her head down and does her job. Yvie does her job and she does it well. She keeps her mouth shut because she was told to and how much she must care about it all to do that is killing Brooke, just a bit. Her frustration slips out, in the private moments, and Brooke watches and thinks about the dignity of risk. Yvie puts Scarlet on the stand and she answers like she's made of ice, so Yvie cedes the floor to Brooke, which is quite frankly too close to giving up.

Brooke loves her, despite all their sparks, so she has a few questions, and a preamble to asking them.

"Two things. Here is the difference between me and Yvie; I too am a lawyer, I too can be painfully vindictive. But I do not play fair."

"That's three things," the prosecutor points out, even though Brooke had been speaking to Scarlet.

Brooke smiles with teeth. "See? Not playing fair already."

Scarlet answers questions like she's made of ice, so Brooke plays to that, and draws out every sharp and jagged little edge she showed when they ran through them in practice. She's mean, she's angry, she's beautiful and she survived. Turns out, Brooke can work with that.

"Why scissors?"

"They were there. They were sharp." Scarlet tosses her hair and smiles. "Why not?"

Order is called. Brooke throws her hands up. She knows the judge personally. She ought to keep it all in order, old school tie rules. Nothing disruptive.

"Of course, sorry," She says, performatively polite, and calm all the same. It matters. "Sure, Tim. Sorry. You know I'm such a slut for authority," Behind her cameras start to click and Yvie grabs her wrist like a lifeline, eyes wide. Timothy, bless his heart, keeps a poker face.

"My co-counsel will take the next witness," she says, smiling vicious and grabbing back at Yvie's wrist with feeling. Do or die together. "She has one or two questions."

Sometimes, performing is the thing.

Sometimes, you gotta give the youth their fucking stage and push them to shine, because they are ready and they have been for a long time.

Yvie performs righteous rage like it's what she was born to do, the first cop on the scene taking the stand and stumbling over his own strictly rehearsed contradictions. She tears him down first, and takes everyone else to _pieces,_ and then gets an adjournment, which they all know is just to clear the debris.

"You did that," Brooke tells her, quiet and before the cameras are a problem. Yvie holds her close in the lift, a little shaky now the adrenaline is gone, sobs into her neck like they're dumbass kids and says " _we_ did that," breathless and full of wonder, before Brooke has to let go and face the public. Scarlet is going to be flirting with the cameras in a second, and managing that is still part of the job.

Fuck the press, honestly.

Brooke hugs Yvie like no one is watching, then the lifts open and the cameras are there and she hugs tight like she doesn't give a shit all the same.

This is the part Vanessa sees first, and how she knows things have gone well. Yvie steps forward to talk to CNN, and Brooke stays in the background, a hand protective on Scarlet's shoulder, and looking for Vanessa in the crowd of people outside court. She makes eye contact, and holds it.

Across the room, Vanessa can feel the ghost of Brooke's hands on her just from a look. Vanessa really doesn't know what follow-the-white-rabbit kind of left turn she made in life to ever be in this situation, and is incredibly grateful that she did.

 


	9. as long as I keep dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the afterglow of what happened in court with Scarlet they all get a bit reckless, probably. In their own ways. For her part, Vanessa manages to keep her hands and sideways glances almost entirely to herself until Friday, when she waits until she and Brooke are the last ones left and then walks out quick to beat Brooke to her car, leaning against it in some kind of a ridiculous pose when Brooke arrives with the keys just to see Brooke laugh.

  
  
Vanessa has been temping for a while, so she has a routine going. Originally, it's pretty simple. Wear something high-necked so no one clocks the tattoo, then just try and outrun the countdown to leaving before she opens her goddamn mouth one too many times and says the wrong thing.  
  
She hasn't had her contract extended before, not for a couple months like this. She decides, later, that she needs to add some more rules.  
  
Don't get distracted. Don't get attached. It makes going harder than it needs to be, and if you fuck up you actually care, which is honestly unbearable. Also, don't go for the window desk. It looks pretty but it overheats every afternoon.  
  
Yeah. Not the window desk, next time.  
  
As if that's the only rule she broke here.

  
*

  
  
In the afterglow of what happened in court with Scarlet they all get a bit reckless, probably. In their own ways. For her part, Vanessa manages to keep her hands and sideways glances almost entirely to herself until Friday, when she waits until she and Brooke are the last ones left and then walks out quick to beat Brooke to her car, leaning against it in some kind of a ridiculous pose when Brooke arrives with the keys just to see Brooke laugh.  
  
"Home?" Brooke asks, without particular intent and sweet about it.  
  
"Yeah," Vanessa says. "Yours."  
  
She doesn't plan on risking taking Brooke to her place again anytime soon; not yet, not until she knows what this is and Brooke has really actually met her girls. But Brooke's is good, it's empty and the bed is wide and soft. She spends Friday night in Brooke's bed, being all different kinds of reckless, and then sleeps in late Saturday morning with Brooke curled around her. She wakes about midday and has nothing more urgent to do than chase Brooke's cats around trying to get one of them to acknowledge her, and when Brooke calls out it isn't to ask her to leave, it's to say that breakfast - lunch, really, maybe brunch - is done cooking.  
  
She asks Shuga to drop her hours down on the night shift because she can afford to do that, now, but she doesn't even consider leaving. For one thing, she'd never live it down. For another, she would never, ever want to.  
  
"You're too good for us now," Silky says mournfully, and Vanessa shrieks objections in between grabbing her, dancing the fine line between a light-hearted assault and an embrace.  
  
"Bitch we all know I'm not," Vanessa tells her, glancing across at A'keria too. "I know. Shut up and do up my dress."  
  
They all get a bit reckless in their own ways, but Vanessa will swear blind that has nothing to do with the fiasco to come. She can't see how she could have avoided it.  
  
It's last call and a lot of guys are assholes about that, so she's ready to throw a drink in a motherfucker's face when she's grabbed too hard by the upper arm. The hesitation comes when she recognises him, and is terrified that he may do the same.  
  
It's not that he's important. He isn't. The company he's in town to represent is, though, from what she gathered in the meetings she sat in while he laid out corporate books and talked secrets with Brooke under client privilege and with Vanessa right there the whole time. Maybe he won't recognise her. God knows when she brought him coffee he never thanked her or made eye contact. It's dark in here and she's wearing a lot more make-up, maybe he won't remember.  
  
"You," he says, slurred but surprised.  
  
"Sir," she says, and loathes herself a bit for how polite it is, "please let go. I'll get you a drink-"  
  
"You- Hytes." He grabs her jaw instead of her arm, and she's more scared for him right now than she is for herself. "Fuck me, you're Hytes'-"  
  
"Let go," she says, as clear and quiet as she can, but it's not enough to pre-empt Silky, who for some unfathomable reason is always particularly aware if people are getting too close with Vanessa, and security, who tend to follow Silky's lead.  
  
"Silk," she says.  
  
"Don't, Silk, I-" she says.  
  
"Don't- oh fuck, guys, no, let him go-" she says.  
  
"Shuga!" she calls, already knowing things have gone further than even Shuga can help with.

 

  
*

  
  
  
Shuga doesn't see everything that happens. There's a commotion. That's normal. Silky doesn't let an infraction go quiet, and that's usual too. The customers throw a few assorted objects and barely coherent threats on their way out, also normal. Vanessa is frightened by something. Not normal, and not okay.  
  
Shuga guides Vanessa behind the bar and into the back room.  
  
"Baby-"  
  
"He knows me," Vanessa says all at once. "From work. Work, the other - it's not okay, Shuga. These people, the things they talk about in front of me, it won't be okay-"  
  
A small part of Shuga is sympathetic. Vanessa is right, and that's going to be hard if it goes badly. As far as Shuga can remember she's been at this place a while, so she's probably made friends. But a much larger part of Shuga was terrified out there, because while Vanessa isn't necessarily the first she'd expect to throw a punch at a client that only applies if Silky isn't on the same shift. Vanessa can handle herself. Seeing her shellshocked like that had Shuga worried something a kind of bad she could never fix or undo had happened, and she is only relieved.  
  
"I need to tell-" Vanessa starts, and Shuga grabs her hand to stop her from reaching for her phone probably more aggressively than she means to.  
  
"You're still with the agency, at that law office?"  
  
"I think - yeah." Vanessa blinks. "The office wanted me longer."  
  
"You don't need to say anything," she says. Shuga knows how these agencies work, and a restriction on any paid work outside their employment is probably the least nasty of the little caveats they have in place in their contracts. Rarely enforced, but when they do they are within their rights to jettison anyone who might be too much work, even when nothing about it is right. Shuga has seen it before.  
  
If there is a chance this guy is too drunk to remember or too embarassed to mention anything those are two good chances worth taking. "It might not ever be anything. Baby, it usually never is. And if it is, that's how it goes and it's not your problem."  
  
"They'll ask her if she knew," Vanessa says numbly, not quite looking at Shuga. "And she does, because I told her-"  
  
"Not your problem, baby," Shuga says firmly. She doesn't know who "she" is and doesn't give a fraction of a damn. Right now, Vanessa is her priority. "Not your problem."

  
  
*

  
  
  
At work, Brooke is nowhere to be seen. After a tense morning Plastique comes over and sits at the corner of her desk.  
  
"She's been in there for hours," Plastique, says, agitated.  
  
"Meeting?" Vanessa asks.  
  
"Conference call," Plastique says, leaning in and tucking her hair behind her ear. Whispering a bit. "Apparently the _partners_ on a conference call. But they never do that, not unless it's - you know. But if something went bad with a client we'd know."  
  
"Yeah," Vanessa says, her chest all kinds of tight. "We'd know."  
  
"It's a mystery," Plastique says, and pats Vanessa's sleeve. "We'll work it out. And when we do, she's got us."  
  
Vanessa's phone buzzes with an email to her personal account not long after. She likes to think she doesn't give anything away, checks it casual. It's not a long message. It doesn't take very many words to say your employment is terminated, not when you're probably sending a template you've sent a thousand times and not bothering to try and take the edge off it.  
  
_You will not need to inform your placement supervisor_ , it says, right there in unarguable 10-point arial font. _They have already been advised._  
  
She can't breathe, just a bit.  
  
"I'm grabbing an early lunch," she tells Plastique, smiles quick and grabs her handbag, and walks out.  
  
She doesn't come back.  
  
She knows she's too much of a coward to face that particular humiliation head on.

 


	10. with friends like this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a saying: great minds think alike.
> 
> It's one good explanation for what happens, in two different places across town, on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday afternoon.
> 
> There's another saying: someone alone can be pretty dumb sometimes, but for real bona fide stupidity, there ain't nothing can beat teamwork.
> 
> At least one of these sayings applies.

 

"I don't understand why she wasn't on your books," Nina says, over mimosas they both desperately need. Plastique pulls a face.  
  
"I was working on it," she says. "There wasn't an existing job to give her, and HR at main office work about as fast as tectonic plates. We thought it would be okay until-" she stops. "We thought it would be okay while I was working on it."  
  
"How's Brooke?"  
  
"Furious."  
  
"I heard." Brooke on the warpath is something you hear about. "But how is _she_?"  
  
"She says she's fine."  
  
"Is she fine?"  
  
"She accidentally copied me in on an exchange with Sydney last night." Plastique looks Nina right in the eyes. "Last message was timestamped at three in the morning. I swear to god, Papa, you have to do something. You have to do something because if that happens again I am going to call in a fucking bomb threat on the office myself so the cops can do my work for me and physically remove her from her desk."  
  
"Well, okay," Nina says reasonably. "We'll keep that for Plan B."  
  
She thinks about it for a moment. Plastique looks harried, and not like she's joking.  
  
"Plan D, maybe." She says. "We'll keep it in the back pocket. I got this. I do, sweetheart."

  
  
*

  
  
A'keria is not having it. There's a limit to what she will put up with.  
  
Vanessa comes home and acts like a ghost, wearing the same hideous oversized tshirt and not much else for days on end, sitting curled on the couch and scrolling through her phone. She calls Shuga and painfully politely asks if there might be any more shifts available, paints pretty and turns out for those, then comes straight home and crawls into bed.  
  
Silky is also quieter than usual until Vanessa breaks free from the fog long enough to grab her close.  
  
"Stop being stupid," she mumbles. "Nothing was your fault."  
  
Then she goes right back to bed, at three in the afternoon. A'keria is not having it.  
  
Mercedes comes around holding a cake, which she says she baked herself. Because this is Mercedes, and only because this is Mercedes, that makes perfect sense. It's lemon semolina cake and it looks fantastic. Mercedes glances around, puts it on the kitchen table and whispers "how is she?"  
  
"Well," A'keria says icily. "The bitch hasn't called, so."  
  
"Oh," Mercedes says. "I'm sorry. And she has Vanessa's number?"  
  
"I'm pretty sure," Silky interjects, "they have her name, number, address, fucking social security number, mother's middle name-"  
  
"Oh yeah," Mercedes says absently. "But I mean - they're not supposed to use it if it's for work and she's gone, right? Because of... the privacy... what did I say?"  
  
A'keria and Silky just stare at her for a moment, then look at each other.  
  
"What did I say?" Mercedes asks, slightly panicked.

  
  
*

  
  
  
There's a saying: great minds think alike.  
  
It's one good explanation for what happens, in two different places across town, on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday afternoon.  
  
There's another saying: someone alone can be pretty dumb sometimes, but for real bona fide stupidity, there ain't nothing can beat teamwork.  
  
At least one of these sayings applies.

   
  
*

  
  
A'keria is not having it, and gets dressed up in her best and heads in to town. She doesn't tell Vanessa or Silky that she is, so when the doorbell rings just a bit after she leaves Silky yells for her to get it a few good minutes before she realises A'keria's not there.  
  
That's not A'keria's problem to deal with. She heads uptown and walks into the cleanly minimalist reception of Andre Charles and Partners and encounters the first of the problems she will have to deal with; namely the extremely beautiful and frustratingly competent girl at the desk.  
  
"I can't see an appointment here," Plastique says, charming. "Would you like me to book one in? We have a number of dates available shortly."  
  
"I don't-," A'keria says. There's a barely teenaged twink in a suit waiting in the lobby looking at her like she's the most interesting thing he's seen all year and it's pissing her off. She stops. "I made an appointment with Vanessa."  
  
The girl freezes, looks A'keria up and down, then smiles the kind of smile they're selling in customer service tutorials.  
  
"Wait a moment, please," she says.  
  
A few seconds later Brooke-Lynn is walking down the hall. She makes eye contact with A'keria, gives a slight incline of the head, then turns to the boy in the ill-fitting suit.  
  
"I'm going to be ten minutes, forgive me," she says. "Personal business. Are you okay to wait?"  
  
"Yes, Miss Hytes," the boy says. "Sure, yes."  
  
She looks different with clothes on, A'keria thinks. Not entirely different, but harder, readier. A'keria thinks she maybe flicked past a few pictures of Bella Hadid wearing a similar pantsuit recently. Nice. Brooke's hair is a frost-bitten blonde like she remembers, in an updo now, and she's conscious of how tall she is, leaning against the desk when they get in the office to lessen the difference.  
  
"Hi," Brooke says. "Good to see you again." She sounds polite, but also like she means it. Fucking Canadians.  
  
"We don't need ten minutes," A'keria says, not actually having anticipated getting to this point. She grabs the closest mostly blank piece of paper from Brooke's desk, hopes it isn't important, and writes down a phone number. "Here. So now you've been given it."  
  
"Vanessa asked you to give me this?" Brooke asks, catching on quick.  
  
A'keria doesn't believe in lying. However, A'keria also doesn't believe in impractically narrow definitions of the truth, and also considers herself a leading world expert in Vanessa's goddamn body language. She wore the same hideous tshirt for days on end and didn't even change it when it got a pizza stain.

"Yes," A'keria says, completely sure. "I can promise she wanted me to give you that."  
  
Brooke's eyes flicker to her, and she almost smiles. "Fine wording," she says. Ah yes, A'keria forgot this bitch was a lawyer. "Great wording, there. And I- thank you."  
  
"I want her to be less sad," A'keria says. "Can you do that?"  
  
"I don't know." Brooke says, helpless, honest.  
  
"Well," A'keria says. She likes honest. "Figure it out, and if you can, you best call her."

  
  
*

  
  
A'keria leaves the house and doesn't tell Silky or Vanessa that she is, so when the doorbell rings just a bit after she leaves Silky yells for her to get it a few good minutes before she realises A'keria's not there.  
  
Well, shit.  
  
She gets the door and opens it to see a face she has never met before, but that is none the less familiar.  
  
"Hello," the woman says, smiling bright. "I'm sorry to drop in unannounced. My name is Nina-"  
  
"-West," Silky finishes. "You're Nina West, from the movies."  
  
"Well," Nina says "uh, yes. I was looking to speak to Ms. Mateo, if she's here, and if she doesn't mind. We have a mutual friend that I am quite worried about."  
  
Nina West doesn't turn up on people's doorsteps. Nina West belongs on billboards and being interviewed on red carpets, maybe occasionally gracing late night tv just to show up the assorted Jimmy's with a comic timing they can't match. There's only one person in Vanessa's life that Silky can see being a friend with Nina goddamn West, _from_ _the movies_ , which has immediately made this situation complicated.  
  
Nina smiles megawatt while looking at Silky, and Silky waits until that smile falters just for a half-second and she can see the moment that Nina West first considers that Silky might not let her in.  
  
That's all she was waiting for.  
  
"VANJIE," Silky bellows up the stairs. "HOLLYWOOD IS HERE TO SEE YOU."  
  
Vanessa apparently heard enough to come downstairs wearing actual pants and lipstick, which is something. Silky hangs around, not caring if she's invited or not. She's always known Vanessa's a little slip of a thing, but seeing her sitting on the couch next to Nina really sends that fact home, and she's all in her feelings about it.  
  
"I'm sorry," Nina repeats. "You don't know me, and just dropping in-"  
  
"It's okay," Vanessa says, tucking her hair behind her ear. She has her knees pulled up to her chest, and Nina is looking at her in a soft kind of way that mirrors a lot of what Silky is feeling. "Makes as much sense as any of the other shit happened this year. You're friends with Brooke?"  
  
"I am," Nina says, and there's a weight to how she says it.  
  
"Did I get her into a lot of trouble?" Vanessa asks, voice small.  
  
"Absolutely nothing she can't handle," Nina says without hesitation. Silky starts liking her a little more. "I'd be more worried if I were the other guys, honestly."  
  
"Okay," Vanessa says. "Good, okay."  
  
"I can't speak for Brooke and I don't intend to," Nina says. "But she's - I suspect you know how she is about speaking for herself. She won't damn do it. And I would also hope you don't need proof of this, but in case there was any doubt regarding how she feels about what happened, I wanted to tell you a bit of a story about how she and I first met."

  
  
  
*

  
  
Yvie beats both of them to the finish line, as it turns out, with a short voicemail. She got Vanessa's number off the emergency contact list and doesn't give a fuck about anyone's privacy.  
  
"Hey," she says. "Heard what happened. Brooke's gonna burn the house down over this, I'm fucking living for it. While she does though I haven't had a PA since I made the last one quit crying, but I think you're the right bitch to take it on if you want to. So call back if you do. Fuck you and also love you lots if you don't. This was Yvie, by the wa-"  
  
  
  
  



	11. let me first apologise to the shirts and the ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke puts herself on the line and A'keria, personally, is a little impressed. Silky is still reserving judgement, but that's Silky. Hard to make a good impression with that one. They're both still readjusting a bit, with the whole of - Brooke is a her, and a whole lot of woman, so that's a thing.

 

Brooke is the one to break silence.  
  
"You deserved better than what happened, and it happened under my watch, I owe you an apology."  
  
"I owe you an apology, so please - ugh. I don't know. Tell me if you're free for me to say this in person. And if you're aren't, know that I am sorry."  
  
She puts the phone down. Plastique hugs her, just a bit.  
  
"She'll answer."  
  
"It's okay if she doesn't," Brooke says, more to herself than anything. "She doesn't owe me shit."  
  
Plastique blinks like she might disagree, but doesn't break the hug.

  
*

  
  
Brooke puts herself on the line and A'keria, personally, is a little impressed. Silky is still reserving judgement, but that's Silky. Hard to make a good impression with that one. They're both still readjusting a bit, with the whole of - Brooke is a her, and a whole lot of woman, so that's a thing.  
  
"Did she do wrong?" A'keria asks.  
  
"No," Vanessa says quiet. "Never even when she could."  
  
"Well," A'keria says thoughtfully. "Okay."  
  
"And she took you out?" Silky asks, even more thoughtful. "I mean out, like took you-"  
  
"Jesus, Silky!" Vanessa says, laughing about it for probably the first time. "She took me out whenever we went to lunch somewhere nice and-" the realisation comes about as she says it, "and she paid for all of it, are you goddamn done?" It might apply to a dinner or two as well.  
  
None of this amounts to what is important, but it's something to know, a background and a context.  
  
Brooke puts herself on the line on purpose and Vanessa knows it, though she doesn't know if Nina and Yvie are also intended, or just the happy coincidence of having friends who love you and actually give a damn.  
  
"Hi," she says, calling back.  
  
"Hey, it's Vanjie," she says. "Um, Vanessa. Hi. This weekend is good? How's saturday?"  
  
She meets her for brunch and after a couple of minutes it's pretty clear this is going nowhere unless either of them get past the formalities and lose their cool right there in the cafe. They make eye contact, and Vanesssa smiles over the implied compromise. Fuck, they can't even finish a coffee without- well, shit.  
  
Brooke waves the waitress over, pays - including for Vanjie's smoothie that she hasn't got yet - and takes Vanessa home. Vanessa has started thinking about it as home, which is dangerous.  
  
Brooke-Lynn apologetic is something else, on her knees as soon as they get somewhere private, like she thinks she can pay it back in the bedroom. "I'm yours," she promises, in between kisses, pressing one to Vanessa's wrist and then to her hipbone. She tilts her face into Vanessa's hands like she's waiting to find out if she might be knocked away. "Fuck the rest,' she says, looking at Vanessa like a plea and a challenge all at once. "I'm whatever you want to do with me."  
  
Vanessa think's that's probably true. She doesn't know what it means, but... goddamn.  
  
"Oh," she says. "I mean- wow."  
  
She's not always the smoothest, okay. Fine.  
  
Also, _holy fuck_.

  
  
*

 

  
  
Brooke burns the house down over it, and they lose that agency. There is nothing else of the same priority on her agenda, and she is nothing if not efficient.  
  
Michelle objects, mildly, in one of the conference calls.  
  
"If you don't like how I am handling my shit," Brooke says calmly, knowing she's only acting principal and nothing lasts and also not caring. "Come down, and fire me yourself."  
  
"Not today, baby," Michelle says with a smirk, like Brooke passed some kind of a test.

 

  
*

 

  
  
For someone who has spent a lot of her professional life dressing to say _fuck off, not today_ it's a little bit ironic how quickly Brooke falls back to trying to fix her personal problems with open legs. She doesn't know what she can say to make any of this better so she resorts to the basics, offering up time that doesn't count to Vanessa to be mean, take out her frustrations. Brooke can take it, no real harm done.  
  
Vanessa smiles like the sun and is only gentle with her, so that plan goes sideways.  
  
It isn't the first time. About a million years ago, with Nina's name on the rise, there were a few producers who took a look at Brooke and had conditions attached to their casting. Idiots, the whole lot of them. A couple of times, Brooke gave it up without hesitation because it was clear to her how bright Nina's star was. Nothing should stand in the way of that, not luck or chance or mundane little things like this. Nothing would have, in her opinion, but she made her decisions at the time and put it on the fast track. She never really understood how distraught Nina was when she found out. It's just the game.  
  
This is entirely different. Vanessa, she cares about, and ain't that the killer.  
  
Tangled together in a mess of limbs, she reaches out and traces her finger across Vanessa's cheek.  
  
"I don't know what the future looks like," she says. "I haven't got a plan. I'm sorry."  
  
"Is it a Canadian thing?" Vanessa asks, that spark back in her voice. "Sorry, all the time?"  
  
"Probably," Brooke tells her. "Stick around, test it out."  
  
"With Yvie? That was real nice, to get her to do that."  
  
"Yvie did what?" Brooke says. "No, I- Yvie did what?"

 

 


	12. get tough, grow up, straight on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tangled up in bed together, they try to make something that at least looks like a plan. Vanessa would be satisfied with anything that keeps her in Brooke's orbit, but she keeps that secret to herself and that particular agenda private.

  
  
Vanessa walks in to a new job full of good intentions, and then discovers that Yvie, when she bothers to organise anything, organises by the alphabet but only by first names.  
  
"No," she says, immediately.  
  
"I have my own style," Yvie says, "I am unique."  
  
"Great for you, but also no," Vanessa tells her. "Not fucking happening, Mary."  
  
"I-"  
  
"No," Vanessa says. "Nope."  
  
Yvie is smitten, and emails about it.  
  
_i love this bitch marry already so i can keep her_  
  
_I am pretending I don't know you,_ Brooke emails back within a minute. _So nothing that happens today reflects badly on me._  
  
_good idea,_ Yvie replies. The emojis she follows it with are comprehensible probably only to her. _she's going to see my inbox in a minute._  
  
_I never knew you and I never will,_ Brooke sends back, but she means it with love. Mostly.

  
  
*

  
  
  
Tangled up in bed together, they try to make something that at least looks like a plan. Vanessa would be satisfied with anything that keeps her in Brooke's orbit, but she keeps that secret to herself and that particular agenda  private.  
  
"Yvie said-" she pauses.  
  
"She said I could work for her."  
  
"She- that girl," Brooke says, stumbling over her words for a second. "Right. Okay. Of course she fucking did."  
  
"You should do what is good for you," Brooke adds, copping out entirely. She's post-coital and too honest, though, upfront about things. "Do it, if it is, and fuck those guys that- fuck what happened with me. Do right by you, if you don't want any of this."  
  
"I don't think I want to work for anyone except you," Vanessa says, which is probably revealing too much.  
  
"Fuck." Brooke says, grabbing for Vanessa and holding her soft as she does. "I don't know how to answer that."  
  
Vanessa cuddles close. "Work it out," she says, quiet. Teasing. "We've got time."  
  
She plans on sticking around, so maybe they do.  
  
"We're having a thing this week," Brooke tells her. "We know Scarlet is getting off, so we have drinks planned, in extremely poor taste. Would you come?"  
  
"Because I worked on it?"  
  
"That, and because you're with me. Both. If that's okay."  
  
"Yeah," Vanessa says. She plans to stick around, and also that's the closest either of them have come to putting a name to this.

  
*

  
  
  
Scarlet gets off on self-defense, and they all drink to it in extremely poor taste, but also with feeling. A lot of fucking feeling.  
  
She wraps her arms around Vanessa, in the middle of the party.  
  
"I don't know if it worked out," she says bold, "but I was here for you."  
  
Scarlet is beautifully made up, probably ready to turn out a show for some cameras somewhere, but in this moment she's just being honest and a bombshell only by accident.  
  
"I was rooting for it," she says, "you and her."  
  
"Was I that obvious?"  
  
Scarlet laughs herself silly. "Girl!" she says. "Girl, I love you."

It's a joke everybody gets except Vanessa, apparently.  
  
So, she was that obvious.

 

 


	13. desenrascanço

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I like her," Yvie says, comfortable halfway into Brooke's lap at an extremely fancy bar down near the courts, and that's getting them a few looks. Brooke doesn't care, fuck everyone, they had a long day and deserve these drinks. She thinks for a moment about how similar it is to anytime she spends too long with Nina, feels safe and just tries to get close. That's a hell of a compliment, if the comparison stands.
> 
> "Also we threw things at each other twice this week," Yvie adds offhand, because the two facts don't need to be contradictory.
> 
> "Jesus christ," Brooke says.

  
  
These are the things Vanessa likes:  
  
She likes when the music is loud, she likes going out.  
  
She likes tequila. Quite a lot.  
  
She likes pretty much anything Silky says, and all the things A'keria doesn't say but that you can read in her face. They're a patchwork little family and they have each other.  
  
She likes when Brooke is distracted enough to just pick her up and put her where she wants them both to go.  
  
She likes dogs, but she's learning how to like cats too.  
  
She likes working for Yvie, she does. But the thing is that she knows, now, how Brooke takes charge precisely and only when she feels she needs to, and seeing that happen with high stakes is something else she likes, a whole lot. It's something she wants back in her life.  
  
Vanessa thinks Brooke is a force of nature, but also a lady, and she likes that very much.

  
  
  
*

  
  
"I like her," Yvie says, comfortable halfway into Brooke's lap at an extremely fancy bar down near the courts, and that's getting them a few looks. Brooke doesn't care, fuck everyone, they had a long day and deserve these drinks. She thinks for a moment about how similar it is to anytime she spends too long with Nina, feels safe and just tries to get close. That's a hell of a compliment, if the comparison stands.  
  
"Also we threw things at each other twice this week," Yvie adds offhand, because the two facts don't need to be contradictory.  
  
"Jesus christ," Brooke says.  
  
"I like her lots, but two- two hurricanes can't cohabitate very long. Shit gets all fucked up." Yvie says earnestly. "That's just science. That's, like, _meteorology_."  
  
"That's certainly something," Brooke says mildly, making a judgement call and taking Yvie's glass of wine and finishing it before Yvie can. She's responsible like that. It's the right call, because Yvie doesn't even notice.  
  
"How much longer do you need?" Yvie asks.  
  
"Plastique says a week before HR clears it, and if she's right about that I'd say about a week and half, because I also need to have an entire existential crisis."  
  
"Don't pussy out," Yvie tells her. "If you drink enough, you can have a whole existential crisis in one night."  
  
Brooke laughs out loud. "I have a story about that," she tells Yvie, who doesn't get the joke, "I'll tell you one day."  
  
"Are you scared Vanessa will say no to the job?" Yvie asks, a few seconds later, because under everything, she's sweet.  
  
"I'm scared Vanessa will say yes," Brooke says. "I can navigate work, and I can do a personal life sometimes. I don't know how to do them together and do right by everyone."  
  
"Well," Yvie says. "I like your track record."  
  
Brooke glances at her, surprised. "My track record is a disaster."  
  
"Nah," Yvie corrects. "With Vanessa? Disasters happened, yeah. But you were pretty great, from what I heard."  
  
"Shut up," Brooke says, with lots of feeling, and all of it soft. "Shut up."

  
  
*

  
  
  
  
Plastique is wrong, but only by a few days, and so Brooke has her crisis and ends up coming back to the very basics of what she has faith in, which means Nina's house.  
  
"Don't tell me about it," Nina says, and Brooke stops, lost and biting her lip. Nina's never done this before.  
  
"Don't tell me," Nina says, "Unless you're ready for me to give you hell."  
  
"I am," Brooke says, not knowing where this is going, but knowing this is where she has placed her faith, and for good reason.  
  
"Do you hate me?" Nina asks. She's got that look on her face, and Brooke immediately knows they're about to rehash an old fight. "You probably should, with everything that happened. I was naive and in over my head, you caught on before I did and you did the dirty work and I got everything."  
  
Brooke is staggered. "Fuck, Nina, no," she's pretty certain there are some flaws in this premise - Nina didn't even know at the time, and she is certain none of it really altered anything, Nina was always going to be Nina - but she's too upset to hear Nina even suggest-  
  
"No, fuck that, I don't. Nina? I _couldn't_." She means that, down to the bone. "You didn't do anything wrong."  
  
"I let you-"  
  
"I'd like to have seen you try to stop me," Brooke says. When they were younger she was mercenary about her body just from past experience, and Nina was everything the opposite of that, so as far as she was concerned it had made perfect sense for her to take those shortcuts on Nina's behalf. "Some of it I'd do again and some was just dumb-" she reaches over to hold Nina's hands, "but I had one very good, very wonderful reason to do it, even if I didn't always go about it the best way."  
  
"Okay," Nina says, a little shaky, like it was the answer she was expecting but she's still relieved to hear it. "So baby, if you get to decide that, why is it a problem if Vanessa gets to say yes or no to a fucking job?"  
  
"I-" she can't really argue with that.  
  
"Don't tell me about it," Nina says, all soft and gentle, pulling her close. Brooke steps into the hug immediately. "Because it isn't really a problem, darling. This is where you have to let fucking go and let her make a decision."

  
  
  
*

  
  
Plastique is wrong, but only by a few days, and sends a quick email. The position is open and Vanessa's if she wants it, so fuck the police, by which she means also fuck external advertising requirements. Something like that, but more professional. Plastique's emails are always unbearably professional. She doesn't cc in Brooke, which is how Vanessa knows she's cutting corners with the rules. She'll have to thank Plastique for that, one day.  
  
"Give me one good reason," Silky says. "One. And you can't say getting laid, because you ain't working there now and you haven't been home the last three nights."  
  
"Firstly, fuck you," Vanessa says, entirely smug about it. "Secondly, I liked working for her, and I liked working with her. Before- before I ever thought I had a chance," Vanessa says. "And I really, really didn't think I had a chance, I was just crushing. I like everyone else there. I like the work I get to do, and I'm good at it. No one thinks I'm dumb just because I'm loud."  
  
"Those are good reasons," A'keria points out reasonably. "She's thought about it."  
  
"Whose side are you even on?" Silky asks, and A'keria shrugs.  
  
"Our little sister is going to do what she's going to do," A'keria says. "She just better bring that woman over for dinner so I can meet her with, you know, clothes on."  
  
"What?" Silky says, intrigued. Vanessa throws a tea-towel at her.

"You met an Academy Award winning bitch and nearly shut the door in her face," A'keria summarises. "I got the nude show, it was pretty good."

"You know, I don't know which of us won," Silky says, like she's trying to add it up in her head.  
  
"You want her over for dinner?" Vanessa interrupts, endearingly hopeful.  
  
Silky and A'keria share a look.  
  
"I mean," Silky says eventually. "She can't join the family if she hasn't fucking met us, so yeah, start with that."

  
  
  
  
*

  
  
  
One of Brooke's favourite words is in Portuguese, which she doesn't speak, but is reliably informed that it means the ability to solve problems even when you don't have any of the knowledge or the tools to do so, just by - well, by making shit up.  
  
She holds on to that thought when Plastique springs Vanessa's first day back on her. Given short notice and no warning she is on the grind, but this time, she is attentive. She has no idea how Vanessa ever didn't have her full attention. God, she was dumb.  
   
"Hi there," she says out loud, trying not to smile just because Vanessa is, and it's beautiful. "Has anyone given you the tour?"  
  
"Not yet, Miss Brooke," Vanessa says brightly. "But I'm finding my way around."  
  
"I-" Brooke pauses. "Really? Miss Brooke?"  
  
"Really," Vanessa says, grinning ear to ear. "I can't help myself. I'm just real happy to be here."  
  
"Desenrascanço," Brooke mutters, under her breath and not meant to be heard.  
  
"Who's she?" Vanessa asks innocently, and Brooke blinks.  
  
"Nothing." She says. "I'm very happy you're here too."  
  
  
  



End file.
